


L'Etoille

by adelaide_rain



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 17:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames and Arthur are friends-with-benefits. Sometimes Eames isn't all that sure they're actually friends. And yet, he wants more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'Etoille

The bedsheets are cream, high-thread count Egyptian cotton. Arthur’s hair spills over the pillow, dark curls contrasting with the pale sheets, his pale skin. Eames touches a thumb gently to a pink scar, half-healed, on Arthur’s shoulder. It wasn’t there last time they saw each other two months ago.

“You need to be more careful, Arthur,” he says softly and Arthur’s eyes flick to him, unreadable pools of mahogany.

“Yes, because it was my carelessness that caused our target to flip the fuck out when we tried to get him under.” His voice is neutral, almost, but reading people is what Eames does best. And what he reads in Arthur’s tone is part sarcasm and part honesty. He does blame himself. Eames knows that – Arthur always blames himself when something goes wrong on a job. Somewhere along the line Arthur misunderstood the role of a point man and assumed it meant you had to be omnipotent.

“I’m not blaming you,” Eames says, kissing the peak of Arthur’s eyebrow and curling an arm around his stomach. “I just wish you’d work with more reputable people.”

“Like you, you mean?” Arthur’s smiling, which would be good if it reached his eyes. But all that Eames can see there is barely controlled anger and maybe a measure of scorn. Eames feels a flicker in his chest like a guttering candle flame. Sometimes Arthur doesn’t realise how deeply his words cut; sometimes he does and that hurts even more.

“Whatever I am to other people, I will always be here for you,” Eames says quietly, his voice almost drowned out by the dull whirring of the air conditioning.

Arthur opens his mouth, then shakes his head and rolls out of the bed. Eames watches as Arthur pulls on his pyjama bottoms and steps out onto the balcony. He sits there, alone in a bed for two, feeling uncertain. It’s a rare emotion for Eames and it’s not one he likes. Especially not when it comes to Arthur. Unfortunate then that it’s all he ever seems to feel lately.

He doesn’t know where he stands any more. He and Arthur are barely friends. They fuck, they work together, but if Eames comes anywhere near to expressing his feelings Arthur blocks him out.

It doesn’t help that Eames doesn’t like to examine his own feelings too closely. He’s not afraid of much but he is afraid of letting someone close to him. It’s only ever caused him pain. In moments of introspection Eames thinks that Arthur might have squeezed into Eames life, blindsided him. But then moments like this show that Arthur hasn’t done anything of the sort. Eames has opened the door for him, like a fool, but Arthur isn’t interested.

A few minutes pass and whispers of doubt become a cacophony. Sighing Eames heads to the bathroom and stands under the shower, lets it pummel his skin, hot, hard, and he presses his hands against the damp tiles.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there trying to wash away his feelings before the shower curtain is pulled aside. It' Arthur, wearing a strange expression that’s blurred by the water running over Eames’s face. They stare at each for a long moment then Arthur sheds his clothes and steps into the shower behind Eames and presses close to his back.

Arthur starts to talk, quietly, and Eames has to strain to hear what he says over the noise of the water.

“When I got shot the extractor dragged me to one of his friends. A doctor who makes extra cash looking after wounded criminals in a back room of his clinic. I lay there, staring at the ceiling and trying not to scream and all I could think about was you. I’m there, bleeding out all over this gurney with a doctor and nurses scurrying around me and all I can think is how you smiled at me last time I saw you in London. How you gave me your scarf when I was cold. How you always make me my favourite breakfast even though you can’t stand crispy bacon. And before I passed out I remember thinking one thing: _please let me see him again_.”

There’s a pause and Eames barely dares to breathe, as if it will break the moment; or Arthur will laugh and say it’s all a joke; or he’ll wake.

“And then I did – you tracked that fake passport you made me and when I landed at Charles de Gaulle yesterday you were waiting with that stupid bouquet. When I saw you I just- I wanted to run up to you and kiss you like we were in a fucking movie. And I got scared. That you just wanted this how it was. Physical and that’s it. I convinced myself I was okay with that – that it was better that way. But when you said – when I thought you might want more than that… Jesus.”

Another pause. Eames turns, slowly, in time to see Arthur pushing his hair out of his eyes. He’s dripping wet and he looks gorgeous, delicious, and Eames wants to kiss him, ravish him, take him. But he’s not just thinking with his dick. He doesn’t want to fuck Arthur; he wants to make love to him. Maybe this _is_ a romcom because that’s the dumbest thing Eames has ever thought in his life and he’s grateful beyond belief that Arthur isn’t a mind reader.

“I want… More. With you. If you want,” Eames says slowly, watching Arthur’s reaction carefully. “I don’t know what will happen. How things will work out. But I’d like to try. Worth a shot, you know.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, and his smile lights up his whole face. “Worth a shot.”

Their lips meet, slick with water, and somehow it’s more than any of their other kisses. Because they’re not just friends with benefits. They’re not anything else, either - not yet. But for the first time, Eames lets himself hope.


End file.
